December 1951
by Disappearing Boy
Summary: Hopefully, I’ll fall asleep soon, because I don’t want to keep thinking – it depresses me.


Disclaimer: I don't own _The Catcher in the Rye_.

Summary: Three years after leaving Pencey, Holden takes time to reflect once again.

* * *

Yeah, so they kicked me out.

Fucking empty bar, you'd think the guy would be grateful for some business once in a while, but you just can't please some people no matter how hard you try. Seemed like just a few drinks ago that I walked in there. Time sure flies when you're having fun, though. I really wish I could've freezed everything right then, I really do. It was perfect, you know? Just swell. Well, except for the bartender, that is. What a moron. Can't believe how badly he runs the place. Treating me like a little kid and acting so goddam condescending, it would make you puke. I'm 19, for Chrissake. I bet it was just because he was bitter about his _own_ miserable life, so he decided to take it out on me.

"All right, buddy, you've had enough to drink, and I'm closing up. It's almost one," he said. Almost one, my ass. Goddam clock on the wall said 12:30. Barely 12:30, at that.

"Juss one more, c'mon."

But he was adamant. I tossed a few singles over the counter. "Keepa change, _buddy_."

God, I hate it when people call you that. Random strangers, for Chrissake. It felt good to throw the word right back in his stupid fat face.

So I slid off the stool and after pulling on the door handle like a madman for awhile, I pushed it open, and the wind hit my face hard. The little buzz I had going was all but gone after that, and I kind of cursed out loud for a few minutes because of it. Oh well. So then I pulled my red hat out of my coat pocket and stuffed it over my ears. That helped a little, but my jacket isn't very thick. I mean, it's a good jacket, and I'm not _complaining_ about it or anything. I've had it for awhile, and I've kind of grown used to it, but it's still pretty thin. Apartment's over a half-mile away, too. Isn't that a pain in the ass?

So while I was walking back, the darkness started to get to me a little, and all I could think about were the police blotters – you know, those blurbs in the paper telling you depressing crap like some old guy got mugged and beaten or some drug dealer got busted selling dope to little kids. That was all I could think about. God, I hate the papers. You wake up to a new day, all optimistic and shit, and then they use the newsstand to knock you right back down. I swear, I almost don't even look at the goddam headlines anymore. Those are the worst.

So I was just walking along, getting more and more depressed by the minute, when all of a sudden, this huge gust of wind comes out of nowhere and knocks off my hat. Knocked it right off my goddam head. So I turned around and chased it and yelled at it to come back, or I'll do this and that, but it was pretty dark, and my hair was falling all over my eyes, and I couldn't see worth a damn.

That's another thing, my stupid hair. This broad told me awhile ago that wouldn't it be _so _cute if I let it grow out. Cute, my ass. Looks like a flock of pigeons flew by and crapped all over me. Every time I look in the goddam mirror, I want to positively puke right into the sink. Broads. I'm obsessed with them. I'm abso-fucking-lutely _crazy_ about them, if you want to know the truth.

Well, pretty soon I got tired of running and had to stop to catch my breath. Doesn't matter, anyway. I'll put something in the police blotter tomorrow. They'll find it for sure. I mean, how can you miss a red hunting hat? You just can't. I started bawling a few minutes later, anyway, just for the hell of it. Must have been drunker than I thought. I mean, Christ, it's just a hat. I'd be able to get another easy. Just go to any sporting gear store. You know, some morons actually shoot deer in those things. That's not really my style, personally. It's a people-shooting hat. I shoot people in that hat.

So I got back home soon enough, opened the door, quiet as can be, and jogged up the stairs to my floor. I could hear my steps echo through the stairwell pretty loudly but didn't really care at that point. I was just glad to be back. Except that some moron had thrown peanut shells all over the stairs that day, and I almost broke my crazy neck two or three times. What a dump.

I got to my room easily enough. Passed this couple on the way, though, and had to put on my suave face. They looked at me kind of strange.

"Hey buddy, is something wrong? Your face is all red."

"Goddam wind, whaddya think?"

I might have said it out loud, I can't remember. I _hope_ I did, because I really wasn't in the mood for pleasantries at that moment. He must of known his girl was giving me the eye and wanted to knock me down a notch. They call that a defense mechanism or some crap like that. That guy's a bastard, anyway, for doing it.

So I finally got to the door. Key was stuck in my wallet, so I had to take everything out of my pockets to get it. God, I hate when that happens. Walked in, locked the door using the last ounce of strength in my completely numb fingers, and just took all my clothes off. That felt good. I sat on my bed and looked at the clock. 3 AM.

Some people started laughing outside in the hall then. Bunch of bums. The hell are they doing out of bed at this hour, don't they have jobs to go to in the morning? God, I hated them so much. Having fun, laughing – even giggling, for Chrissake, even the guys. That killed me. I had a feeling that they might be playing for the other team, though, if you catch my drift. Soon, their voices got fainter, so I got bored. Might as well go to sleep, got to go to the goddam factory at 9. They have the most retarded hours. 9:00 on a Monday. And my boss – don't even get me started on _that_ moron – what a phony. He's a bonafide phony piece of crap, if I ever saw one.

So I turned out the light and lay down. Hopefully, I'll fall asleep soon, because I don't want to keep thinking – it just depresses the hell out of me. Besides, I might start to see my little brother with his baseball mitt again, in my head, and I'd probably start bawling. I don't feel like bawling anymore tonight, if you want to know the truth. Might start to become a goddam _habit_, for Chrissake.


End file.
